


Waiting

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2005-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3778859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!</p><p>Oh, I rated it as general, but chapter 4 is somewhat adult in content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Waiting**

_This story is for my mother, who I love dearly, though she is prone to unnecessary panic over her children much too often;_

my father, who sometimes finds communication with his daughter an extremely challenging task, but with her help copes;

my poor younger brother, shadowed a little by his bright and successful sister, but being such a dear no girl can resist him;

and, above all, my seven-year-old dragon-and-princess-loving friend Oksana, a little blond blue-eyed girl who listened to my very abridged bedtime version of The Hobbit with a fascination that would inspire even the dullest person to write at least an SMS…though it may be some time before she learns English and can read this my gift to her.

**Chapter 1**

The thing most unbearable for me is waiting.

And waiting now… who knows what for…

No, it would be a lie to say so. I know what I still hope to hear with the shreds of my long-forgotten hopes.

I want to hear his voice. And I want him to hear mine, one last time.

Then, I would finally tell him everything I kept to myself all those long years. And, maybe, he could forgive me.

I keep wondering when it all began. When did I start to lose my child? Many would say it was after his mother’s death, and yet I know it was not so…

**********************  
  
She died. Four days had passed, and I still was— well, stunned and bewildered by the cruel truth of it. Her absence proved to be a lot more evident that her presence. She had been exactly the kind of wife I needed; never intruding upon my work, ever so patient even if I was sometimes forced to stay away from her for long evenings, to come to her bed only in the small hours of the night, and somehow she managed not to be asleep, waiting for me to lean into her gentle embrace, to whine about the cursed last King who for some curious reason would not take a cursed wife and have at least one cursed son; no, he had to start the cursed position of the Steward instead. She would chuckle at this and reprimand me for the lack of reverence towards the age-sacred traditions of my homeland. Then I would let her take my clothes off me and fall onto the bed, exhausted but oh how happy to feel her fingers softly tracing the contours of my face and hear her comment on the additional touch of manliness my new stubble gave me…

But she was no more. And there were two children I now had to raise alone.

And I had no clue how I would do that.

To add to all that, they were so different one could doubt their kinship, were they not so alike in appearance. Boromir was the easy one to deal with. A child quick-tempered, driven to tears or laughter within a split second, wreaking havoc anywhere he went – but oh, so wonderfully plain and open! Whenever he broke anything or bumped into a busy servant or tripped over a sleeping cat and onto a long flight of stairs, there would be a hellish wail that would not stop for hours, and his mother and nurse had to give him endless sweets and honey cakes…

Faramir used to produce no fewer calamities, but in a way so different from his brother’s! One of them was scrambling into an old chest in a storeroom, and then the lid fell shut, and he was not discovered until late at night. Finduilas happened to be sitting at Boromir’s bedside – the boy had measles – and I bravely dismissed the nurse venturing to look after my child myself, having less matters of state to attend to that evening. What happened was this: to my shame, I dosed off in front of the fire, and my little son simply disappeared! He would do a thing like this with great care, so I had had several hours of sound sleep before awakening to see my wife glaring at me.

It was I who found the boy, and quite by accident. He had been so silent, and all thought the child would surely cry out, so… I still remember the deadly chill that took me at the thought of what might have happened to him had it not occurred to me to check upon the dusty room.

He gave me a look filled with such horror that for a moment I was short of breath. I held the child tightly to my chest, feeling his small hands clutch at my tunic, his heart beat as wildly as a frightened bird’s, his shallow breaths hitting my neck. And yet, he did not make a sound.

Finally, I heard a faint whisper, too faint to make out the words.  
“What is it, child? Are you hurt?” I tried to keep my voice firm and calm, so as not to alarm him still more.

“Dark… Father, so dark…” With that, he pressed still closer and started to shake.

“Shh, I am here, love, we will go to your mother, there is nice warm big fire there, and candles. Hush, let us go. All will be well, I promise.”

He had started to sob quietly when I took him to the nursery. My wife was already there, informed by some servant that her younger child was safe and whole. Having cast a furious glance at me, she hissed, “I have been told that it takes certain people forever to make a father, my lord, but even in my worst nightmares never have I thought you one of such! Give my son to me now!”

I knew better than trying to reason with her just then, subdued as I was with the realization of my own inadequacy and my son’s fright and overwhelmed with relief as well. Silently, I passed Faramir into her arms and fled.  
  
*************************

“All right, I think I could forgive you.” She was frowning at me, but I noticed a hint of a laugh in her eyes. “Go and see your son. He wants to make sure we are reconciled, otherwise he might not sleep.”

I was already leaving the chamber, but then changed my mind, returned swiftly to her and kissed her with all the passion I could summon. Just when she had started to respond to the kiss, I broke off, laughed, and hurried to the nursery, followed by the sound of her amused chuckle.

************************  
  
Faramir was in bed, pale still, but contented. He already looked sleepy, but smiled and held out his small hand in my direction. I sat down on his bed, stooping to kiss his sift cheek.

“How do you feel, my little one?”

“Mother angry with me?”

I nearly fell off the bed. “You! Whatever makes you say that, son?”

He sniffled, huge tears escaping his eyes and rolling down the temples. Alarmed, I gathered him from the bed and held close, stroking his dark tangled hair.

“Hush, your mother is not angry with you in the least! She is a little mad at me, though. You know, I was supposed to look after you!” I gave him a little squeeze and a shake. He did not speak for a while, then looked up at me with big moist eyes.

“Mother is angry because I was naughty,” he said, looking absolutely heartbroken. “I don’t want Mother to be angry with you because of me.”

I could have laughed, had I not been so deeply touched at his concern. “Faramir, your Mother is not angry any longer. This is what she sent me here for – to tell you this. She was just so very worried about you, and Boromir too – he is ill, remember? – so she said some angry words that she did not really mean. People do so sometimes, you know. But, even if your Mother is angry, that does not mean she does not love us all.”

He still looked unconvinced. Then I lowered my head to his and whispered into the little ear, “She let me kiss her. Now, would she do such a thing if she were still angry?”

“No,” he gave me a small smile, immediately followed by an enormous yawn. “Can I see Boromir tomorrow?”

“No, not yet, son. You might fall ill too. We will have to wait a little longer. Sleep now, my little one. You are tired; it has been a long day for all of us.” I put him back into his bed and moved to blow out the candles. “Does the fire bother you?”

It was burning high, bathing the nursery in rich orange glow. The flames were springing up, twisting playfully with one another; the wood gave an occasional soft crack.

“No,” Faramir answered. “It was so dark in there…” He shuddered, and I stroke his cheek soothingly, but then he smiled again. “Fire is so beautiful…” His eyes were closing, but he murmured yet before falling asleep, “I… love…fire…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!

**Chapter 2**

My son stirred and moaned softly. I leaned close, straining my ears to catch any words that might have passed his lips parched with fever, but heard none.

“Faramir… please, answer me, son…” The words caught in my throat; my own voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else, so shaky and pleading it was. It struck me that long ago I begged my wife to hear me in the same manner, but she just slipped away, leaving me so dreadfully desolate that for days and days I refused to heed anyone, my own children among them.

*************************

So, it was four days after my wife passed away and was laid to rest; I was nearly crushed by her death, quite sure I could never recover. It was then that my duties as a Steward became less onerous: they helped me to keep my mind off the things that were circling in my head incessantly, dark thoughts that threatened to send me into a bottomless pit of despair. I would bury myself in the paperwork, never leaving my office and snapping angrily at any intruder, for fear they might catch a sight of tears on my face. For, however hard I tried to occupy myself with matters of state, occasionally among the papers there would be a forgotten embroidered handkerchief, or a hairpin, or a funny drawing of a striped cat chasing fat mice – that one she had made together with Faramir, and I remembered them giggling like a pair of conspirators, Boromir standing a little apart and pretending not to take part in such a childish play, and then pointing out that the mice in the picture were the size of the cat, and so it was wholly unnecessary for them to flee…

Such cute and small things, and yet each of them was another dagger in my already bleeding heart. Besides, they made me face another challenge, the children.

For Finduilas’s final months, they had acquired a nurse: their mother had been in constant pain, I tried to stay with her as much as I could, and I did my best to shield them from witnessing her torment. She herself had recommended the girl to look after our boys; the latter’s name was Linwen, and I had to admit the choice was good. Linwen was very young, but amazingly efficient with her little charges, and they loved her almost immediately. She was unusually petite, for a one of Númenorean descent, but had a truly fiery personality and an indomitable spirit, igniting everyone with the sparkles of her big grey eyes that changed to green whenever she was under a strong emotion. I was (and am until now) enormously grateful to her for lifting the veil of sorrow which had seemed to shroud us all for most of the time.

She would burst the door open and proudly announce, ignoring the indignant hisses from the healers, “My lady, I deeply regret troubling you, but your two little rascals make it so hard to keep my wits about me! How could such noble parents have given life to this pair of Orcs, I wonder?” Next she would produce the aforesaid rascals, usually covered in mud or dust or cobweb, occasionally bruised, and plunge into a long account of how our precious little ones had come about those marks of honour.

The whole thing would develop into a lengthy discussion, towards the end of which Finduilas looked pale and weary, but there was a smile on her lips as she gently berated the boys for giving Linwen so much trouble, and long after the visit she would be much livelier than before it. I suspected that was exactly what Linwen had aimed at; moreover, it very effectively screened the boys from the terrible truth for yet another day.

And yet, the day came when even Linwen’s cheerful manner faded away. I had seen her at the funeral out of the corner of my eye, holding Faramir with one arm, his face buried on her shoulder, another wrapped tight round Boromir, who stared at the funeral bier with an expression of disbelief mingled with anger: death was something he had until that moment known from afar, a thing that usually happened to ‘someone else’ and certainly should not have befallen his own mother. Only when Finduilas’s body disappeared in the crypt did tears tumble down his pale face; he pressed closer to Linwen, shaking all over with violent sobs.

She tried to comfort him, to embrace him tighter, but that was no easy task with Faramir still in her arms; he was a five-year-old by then, and quite heavy for a girl of her built. Appearances forgotten, I crossed over to them and attempted to take Faramir from her, but my son had his small arms securely round her neck and refused to be passed to me. Looking back, I understand that poor boy was clinging to her because she was a woman, and therefore had some of his mother in her, and for no greater reason, and yet it had hurt me so much seeing my child turning away from me! Signing, I went to Boromir.

I spent the rest of the day with my elder son, first simply holding him and letting him weep, then bidding the servants to bring us some food and making him (and myself) eat a little, and, finally, putting him into my own bed, as he fell asleep in my arms and I did not want to wake him. I did so in the following days, too, for he seemed so unwilling to leave me and I so dreaded the moment I remained alone in my chamber that I used to share with my wife, that I had not the heart to send him back to the nursery.

One night, I heard a soft rap on the door.

“Enter,” I said.

It was Linwen. One change was surely brought about by Finduilas’s passing: our nurse learned to knock before entering.

“My lord Denethor,” she said. I nodded and pointed to a chair. She shook her head and crossed over to the bed to look at Boromir. “Just wanted to see how he fares,” she explained. “I feel I am neglecting him a bit in favour of his brother,” she added apologetically.

“You need not worry over this,” I said. “Naturally, as Faramir is so young, he needs more attention.”

She gave me a sharp look. “He needs more of your attention, my lord.”

I shrugged. “He seems pretty comfortable with you, Linwen. Hardly says a word when I try to talk to him.”

“The poor child is in a terrible shock!” she cried, springing to her feet and starting to pace the floor restlessly. “All he knows is that his mother suddenly left, his brother and closest friend would not play or talk to him, and his father is too busy!”

“What would you have me do, then?” My temper started to rise. “Whenever I try to talk to him or hug him, he just stiffens and mumbles something, and then curls into a ball on the bed and falls silent.”

She seemed to soften slightly. “Men are so…” she swallowed one of her epithets. “My lord, Faramir is a difficult child to talk to, but not impossible. As he matures, this could even develop into a strength – I mean his stubbornness and reticence – but until then, he will need a lot of support. Do you know why he behaves so with you? He is mortally afraid that--”

She was interrupted by a patter of small bare feet, and in an instant the subject of our conversation appeared in the chamber.

Faramir burst into the chamber, then stopped halfway between the door and us, short of breath. It took me an instant to realize the child was distraught, his cheeks flushed, tears streaming down his face.

“Mother?..” he gulped.

For once, I was quicker than Linwen to snatch him into my arms meaning to shush him, but suddenly his little hands became hard fists battering against my chest.

“No… don’t want you, want Mother! No, no, no! Let me go! I hate you!”

I was so stunned I nearly dropped him. His cries became unintelligible but for an occasional ‘hate you’, his feet started to kick me, he was gulping for air and seemed to be unable to exhale. It took great strength to hold that tense kicking bundle that was my five-year-old son, so quiet and placid only hours ago!

Linwen put an end to it. She turned Faramir to face her, I still holding him, and slapped him quite hard across the face.

“What are you doing!” I roared, blazing with rage.

“Just what is needed here,” she replied calmly, passing to the bedside table and pouring a glass of cold water from a jug. “Here, Faramir, drink. Slowly… there’s a good boy, now come, I am here, and your Father… it’s all right…” She gently took him from me and settled him on the bed, where was a frightened wide-eyed Boromir, his eyes still foggy with sleep. Fortunately, he grasped what was needed from him in an instant. He put his arms round his little brother, whispering into his ear, and gradually Faramir’s eyes calmed, though his breathing was still rather uneven.

I took Linwen by the arm, none too gently, and pulled her as far from the bed as was possible. “What were you thinking you were doing?”  
I hissed. “You struck my child!”

She freed her arm and sighed. “The boy was hysterical, my lord. That was the most effective way to bring him back to his senses. I hated doing it, but it might have ended in a cramp.”

“Oh… I am sorry then. Have you seen it happen before?”

“Not to him.”

“But why… why was he saying all this? About hating me, I mean?” It had pained me so much, trying to bring some comfort to my child and hearing such terrible words.

“Definitely not because he felt it. The boy needed to release his emotions and you were the first person he came across. Had I been first to catch him, these words would have been poured out at me. Now I am going back to bed, and it is your task to find out why your son was so distraught.”

Mortified, I caught her by the arm again. “Surely he would tell you more readily?”

“Oh, surely? And is that a natural thing, to confide into a stranger rather than you own father? No, my lord, forgive my outspokenness, but he is your child and I will see you less of a coward in facing your responsibilities as a father even if I have first to bang your head against the wall!”

Involuntarily, I laughed at the picture in my mind, this chit of a girl fit to be my daughter herself, banging my head against the wall beside the fireplace… I would have to crouch, for her to perform the task successfully. “You are a dear, Linwen. How do you do that? I mean, make people feel so unburdened in you presence?”

“No idea,” she answered solemnly, smoothing her skirt like a good schoolgirl. “Some things just make me raving mad, like most men willingly stepping aside from raising their children and then blame their wives and nurses and the children themselves for not being able to be and do what their fathers expect them to… No, I do not mean you, my lord Denethor, not yet, there is still some hope left in your case.” She gave me a sad smile, the agitated green in her eyes subsiding and giving way to her usual calm grey. “But come, let us have this conversation some other time. Go to your sons, they need you more than ever.”

“Thank you, Linwen,” I said as she was closing the door.

“Whatever for?” she raised her eyebrows.

“For caring for my children so. I am sure you will make a good mother when time comes.”

She gave her usual nonchalant laugh. “Do not doubt that. As for caring for the boys… am I not paid for that?”

And, with another laugh, she was gone.

Faramir was still watching me with wide unhappy eyes, exhausted after his outburst. His brother was sound asleep, so I reached for my little one, extracted him from Boromir’s arms, and went to sit in an armchair by the fire, settling the child in my lap.

He sighed and buried his face in my chest, and so we sat, pressed close to each other, until finally I thought he was asleep and made to get up to put him back to bed. But Faramir stirred and looked up at me, and I was shocked to see that his face was glistening with tears again.

“What is it, son? Are you ill? Please, tell me.”

He lowered his gaze, then whispered: “I’m a bad child.”

I pulled away a little and took him by the shoulders. “What stupid things you say, Faramir. You are a very-very-very good child, and we all love you so much. Will you not tell me what happened?”

He sniffled miserably. “I had a bad dream. I was so scared, and I wanted Mother, and she was not there…” He trailed off, trying to catch his breath.

“What was the dream about, Faramir?”

He shook his head so violently that his hair flew into my eyes. “No, no… I can’t. It was bad, scary… dark, so dark… Oh Father, I’m scared, so very very scared!”

I held him close again, feeling the little body shudder beneath my hands. I became concerned, remembering something Linwen had started to tell me before Faramir ran into the chamber, something about fear and his odd behaviour towards me. I had to get it out of him, if only to calm him.

“Son, you must tell me. It will do you good, the dream will not be so scary if I know about it. Please, Faramir.”

He nodded and finally told me.

“I saw you, in a dark room… it was so dark, but I just knew you were there. I was afraid, and I called you, and you started to walk to me, and then there was a ball, and… and…” he sobbed, clutching at my tunic.

“What ball, child?” I asked, baffled.

“Don’t know… it was black… and it took you, and I cried and cried, but you didn’t come back… like Mother…” he broke down completely now, tears streaming down his face and onto my hand, which he had in his grasp. “You… you…left…left me… and Boromir was not there, and it was so dark…”

I stroked his head with my other hand, whispering some soft nonsense one would say to a young distressed child, feeling tears prick at the back of my eyes. How could I be so blind? Well of course that was what Linwen had meant! The poor child had just lost his mother, the loss and the grief of such scale happening for the first time in his life; surely he would be mortified at the thought of losing his other parent as well! And a thoughtful and quiet child like my Faramir too.

But what was that talk of the ball about? A strange image. I would not be surprised at being carried away by an Orc in my son’s dream, but this…

Gradually, Faramir calmed down. I turned him so that he was facing me sitting astride my lap, and cupped his face.

“Now listen to me, Faramir,” I said gravely. “No damn ball or whatever it was you saw in that dream of yours can take me away from you. I am your Father, and now that your Mother is gone, I will always be with you. Do you hear that, son? Always, even if I am too busy at my office, I will still think of you two and love you with all my heart, because I have only you left now. Even if I am angry or tired or in a bad mood, never doubt that I love you.”

He looked into my eyes, still troubled. “But I am a bad child. I said I hated you. I shouldn’t have.”

“You were upset, that is all. You do not really hate me, do you?”  
“No!” he paled with horror.

“Remember, once I told you that when people are angry or sad they would say things they do not really mean?” He nodded. “It happened to you too, and it is no great shame. You just missed your Mother.”

“Do you, Father? Do you miss her?” He put his hot little palm to my cheek, and the awkward gesture was enough to shatter all my self-control. I tried to turn away from Faramir, but he threw his arms around my neck and nearly strangled me, whispering hotly in my ear: “Linwen said it is good to cry, because otherwise you may hurt inside for very long. I don’t want you to hurt, Father, I don’t.”

So we sat there until I had no more tears left, my little son holding me tight and comforting me as best he could.

******************************

“Father?” he called me after I finally laid him next to his brother. “Mother would be angry with you if she were here.”

“Oh? And why would that be so?” I smiled tiredly.

“You said *damn* ball!”

******************************

I found myself smiling when I remembered this moment at my grown son’s bedside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!

**Chapter 3**

“My lord?”

I turned to meet the anxious gaze of Peregrin, the most recent acquisition of the Tower Guard. Strange to see him here, of all people, the creature whose vow I accepted for sheer whim, but nevertheless the only one to stay with me in one of my darkest hours. Life is one huge jest…

“What is it, Peregrin?”

He pulled a face. “Pray call me Pippin, my lord.”

“May I ask why you prefer this name? Is Peregrin not a more dignified version?”

“Sure thing, but that is what my Father used to call me when I was a child, after some neighbour complained about me getting into his garden, or throwing pebbles at his little daughter, or something as nasty as that, and then…” he stopped, flushed scarlet.

“And then?” I was getting quite amused, despite the situation.

“And then he would make me clean the windows until you couldn’t see there were any panes there,” he sighed, then gave me a watery smile.

“I made my sons help at the kitchens if they did any mischief.”

“Was it a PUNISHMENT?!”

*************************

“No, YOU come in and tell your Father all about it! And I will just hope you will receive at least twenty lashes each! No, thirty would be just fine for Boromir!” It was Linwen’s enraged voice, sounding from the hallway.

“Why thirty for me? Faramir broke more of them!” my older son wailed.

“Now don’t tell me it was your little brother’s brilliant idea! In there, you pair of trolls! No, I fear I am offending poor sweet trolls by saying that!”

I noted with a smile that until lately my children were referred to as Orcs. What was it now? The last time it was climbing the rope down a wall at the Houses of Healing to have a look at some nest. My knees had turned into jelly when I saw the drop and pictured the two of them lying down there… I had slumped heavily against the wall, the air suddenly becoming dense and sticky, my hands gripping the grass. Only after some time had I been aware of Boromir gently shaking my shoulder, his brother eyeing me warily from behind.

They both had been pale as death, obviously scared to see me like that. I sent them to their rooms, unable to think of a fitting punishment, but it seemed later it was not needed, for the boys stayed out of everyone’s sight until the very end of the day, and were unusually sheepish for at least a week after. Then there was an archery contest in the poultry-yard, and chasing one of the noble’s daughter around the stables until she toppled down into a horse trough and screamed so loudly everyone thought she had at least broken something (that was closely followed by a visit from an angry mother), and then a number of other calamities that brought me almost to the end of my tether. There were times when I just could not simply smile at another story of the kind, and seriously questioned my own adequacy as a father, for they seemed to pay little heed to my dressing downs, though they pretended to look so miserable when brought before my eyes!

It appeared that this time they had engaged themselves into throwing stones at one of the stained glass windows depicting Isildur cutting the Ring off the Enemy’s hand. Apparently, by the time one of the Guards caught them in the act, Boromir had hit seven little panes and Faramir thirteen, the latter unsuccessfully trying to hide his triumphant grin. The boy had a very sharp eye indeed.  
“Now, my lord, I think it is time these two knew the feeling of a whip on their backs,” Linwen concluded, having recounted the events, her eyes flashing green. She then turned around and swept away in a flurry of her skirts.

My sons were watching me uncertainly, heads bowed, Boromir’s hands clasped nervously, Faramir fidgeting with a clasp of his belt.  
“Now,” I started patiently, “who was the first to think of doing that? You, Boromir?” I was quite certain of an affirmative for an answer, Boromir always being the instigator of all the mischiefs.

Hardly had he had the time to collect his wits when I heard Faramir, speaking softly but clearly, “No Father, it was me.”

“Was it you, Faramir?” I gaped at my younger son in astonishment.  
“Yes,” he whispered and lowered his head.

I sighed. “Boromir, you will spend five days helping the kitchenmaids. You may start right now. Silence!” I said, seeing he was about to protest. “Now off with you. I want to talk to your brother alone.”

He wheeled out of the chamber with great relief plainly written on his flushed face. Faramir stole an apprehensive look at me. I sighed again. To say I did not look forward to the task before me would be a great exaggeration.

“It pains me so to say this to you, Faramir, but you have gravely disappointed me today. I never expected it from you, to behave in such irreverent and irresponsible manner.” I was still sitting at my desk, it being a barrier between us, and he looked remarkably small and vulnerable in the vast chamber. I left my chair and stepped closer to him. “Now remind me, what was it you said to Linwen when she brought you your hot milk yesterday night?”

He whispered something.

“Louder, Faramir! And look at me!” I commanded, starting to hate myself for making my child so unhappy.

“That… that I was too old for that… that I was not a baby anymore…” came the answer finally.

“Hmm…” I mused. “Too old to drink your milk and still not old enough to come to respect certain things? Do you realise that what you have done today was far beyond your earlier escapades? Son, it is one thing to pull girls’ hair or shoot at the geese and quite another to treat with disrespect things that the whole generations of your ancestors have held sacred over centuries.”

He was silent still, eyeing a crack in the stone floor.

“Faramir, one day you will have to lead people after you. You will never be able to truly command them if they have but a slightest suspicion that you are not a man of honour, responsible and of a high quality. Should you fail in this, you will be failing your City and your land, and your people, too.”

His eyes met mine, and the look in them was so desolate I almost succumbed to a sudden desire to take him in my arms. But this would be unwise. I expected tears and apologies, but none came.

“From now on, you are to attend all the Council Meetings with me and take notes of everything being said at them,” I announced the punishment. “Later, I am going to go over your records with you, to ensure you have understood everything. Now go to your room. You will stay there for the rest of the day.”

**************************

I came to check on him before retiring to bed, feeling slightly troubled. I hated to inflict any pain on my children, but certain things were not to be tolerated. I had seen Boromir before that; he just frowned at me and dipped another huge serving dish into the basin. Linwen was nowhere to be found. I just hoped she had been with Faramir earlier and comforted him a bit.

He was sitting on the floor staring into the flames. Everyone in the household got thoroughly fed up with reminding him of the harm the habit could do to his eyes, as well as could his reading to dim candlelight, but it looked like that took little effect. During the day there would not be enough time to read, there being so many things to do: smashing windows, shooting the poultry… oh, yes, there were lessons too, both in the schoolroom and at the practice grounds, but those were of minor concern, of course. So Linwen and I repeatedly lectured to him on the effects of late reading, Boromir teased him, but all were amazed at the sudden stubbornness of our little boy. Not so little any longer; he had already turned nine, and was quite tall for his age. Clever, too; his tutors never stopped singing praise to his remarkable classroom achievements. He was also able to keep a good aim, though the sword was clearly not his weapon. Every time he looked at one, there was exasperation mixed with distaste in his eyes, and he wielded it skilfully, but with obvious reluctance.

“Faramir?” I called him uncertainly.

His head turned with a jerk, and he slowly climbed to his knees, but did not utter a word.

“Please stop gazing at the fire. You will give yourself a headache, and you know it is bad for your eyes,” I reached to touch his cheek, but he made away, then said with feigned indifference, “As if anyone cared.”

I sighed, for a thousandth time this day. As if there were not enough trouble around, here was my younger son obviously cross with me.

I absently thought that Boromir’s frown had not disturbed me as much as did the hurt look in his brother’s eyes. Where was Linwen? She would surely know how to handle Faramir. She always did. Was it because she was young or a woman? Or did she simply spend more time with them?

My son looked positively uncomfortable. I made another attempt.  
“I am sorry that I had to say all those words to you earlier, Faramir. But--”

“I understand, Father,” he interrupted. “It was my fault. I promise I will do nothing of the kind in the future. You will never have to be ashamed of me.” His voice was so flat I got alarmed.

“But I am not!” I cried. “You have made a mistake, son, but that does not mean my feelings towards you have changed.”

“Mine have.”

“Faramir--”

“Please, Father, I want to be alone.”

But you are, always, I wanted to cry. Your brother now has his own lessons, which means less time spent with you, I am occupied with the affairs of state most of the day, Linwen’s mind seems to be dwelling elsewhere these days… And you yourself have built a wall around you and would not let anyone in. I have been just a poor excuse for a father, all those years since Finduilas died, not to have noticed that earlier!

But no words came. I looked at him sorrowfully, then planted a quick kiss on the top of his head and left.

****************************

“So you want me to talk to him,” Linwen stated.

“Please? Linwen, I tried, but he plainly did not want me.”

“Oh, all right,” she heaved an exasperated sigh. “May I suggest that you go and see Boromir? That will do you good. You look so miserable!”

“Well, would you not if you could not reach your own child,” I grumbled, then went to Boromir’s chamber.

The heir to the Stewardship was sprawled across the bed, lying on his belly, casually flipping through the pages of some book of sketches.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the book. He surprised me by blushing deeply and mumbling something under his breath. I reached over and took the book from him.

It appeared Finduilas’s collection of sketches of Dol Amroth, ships, the sea, gulls and other birds, buildings, people… I smiled and returned the book to him. “It is all right, son. Keep the book if you will.”

He nodded his gratitude, then asked uncertainly, “Have you thought of marrying again after Mother died?”

I had been expecting the question from someone for quite a while, so it did not come as a big surprise from my son. “No, I have not, Boromir. At first, it was too painful to even think about, and then there was too much to occupy my mind with. Moreover, you and your brother might have not liked another woman in place of your Mother.”

“I think you should have found someone,” he whispered.

“But why? I was sure you at least would disapprove.”

“I might have, but it would have done Faramir good.”

“How? He does not seem very forthcoming even with me.”

Boromir fidgeted helplessly, his mind obviously in search of words. “I cannot explain… it is so hard, Father…” he wrung his hands as if in despair, “he misses Mother, but does not even know about it…”

“Peace, Boromir, it will be all right. I sent Linwen to talk to him, she is sure to help. Now go to sleep, you must be tired after your kitchen duties.” I smiled at him a little teasingly. He frowned again.

“I am sorry about the thing, Father. I was most irresponsible to keep up that stupid game, and now Faramir got all the blame! I feel so wretched! Oh yes,” he grunted, “Linwen told me everything about you and Faramir. You should not have said such things to him, Father. He takes them too seriously and they pain him so much! Please go and try to talk to him, please!”

“I have tried, Boromir, but he said he wanted to be alone. All right, all right,” I conceded, seeing he was about to put forth more reasons, “I will talk to him again. Now sleep, son, and sweet dreams to you.” I bent over him and kissed him on the cheek, earning an indignant look and a hiss, “Father, please! I am not a three-year-old!”

I just smiled and left him to sleep with his Mother’s book tucked under the pillow.

********************************

Linwen was waiting for me in the hallway, a slight frown disfiguring her smooth brow.

I was instantly anxious. “How is he?”

“In bed. Not sleeping and not likely to for some time.”

“What is happening, Linwen?” I lamented. “Do you also think I should have married again?” And I recounted my talk with Boromir to her.

Linwen paced along the hallway, I followed in her wake. “Boromir knows what is wrong, he is just too young to put his feelings into words. What he meant to say was that Faramir was bereft of a mother’s love, though he seems to remember little of the Lady Finduilas by now. My lord, how many times did Boromir bring his troubles to you when your wife was alive?”

“Not really often… why?”

“I mean that he had his mother to confide in when you did not have time. Your younger son had no one. I was but a poor substitute, a mere girl they treated rather as a friend figure, too young and inexperienced. That is why he withdrew into himself so much. Also, he believes you think him inferior to his brother as he is not so good at swords and… and irresponsible and a dishonour to you.”

“What?!” I gasped. “However did he come about such ideas?”

“He said you told him so.”

Linwen kept her eyes down, but I could all too well feel the disapproval behind her calm façade. I felt sick at heart remembering the words I had said to Faramir earlier in the day.

“No… oh, no… what am I to do now, Linwen?” I groaned.

“Why, go and do something about it. And right now, I think.”

“But what if he refuses to speak again?”

She stopped and turned to face me. “Then press on. That was what I did, do you think he just poured everything to me?” She fidgeted with her girdle, then breathed out, “I am engaged to be married, my lord. That will mean me lost to him as well.”

I was dumbstruck. I was certainly aware of the fact that Linwen was a pretty, smart and passionate girl who would start a family of her own one day, but had always comforted myself with the thought that it would happen some other day.

“My lord?” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Well, Linwen,” I smiled at her, “I wish you a lot of joy. Who is your husband-to-be?”

“I doubt you know him. He’s from Rohan, we met when he was visiting a friend in the City.”

I chuckled. “The men of Gondor are going to regret their lack of clear sight.”

We stopped at the door to Faramir’s chamber.

“Good luck, my lord,” said Linwen and was off.

*******************************************

Faramir was lying on his back, which was a bad sign in itself, as he preferred to sleep curled on his right side. I sat on the edge of the bed and caught his unhappy gaze.

“Cannot sleep?” I asked, touching his face.

He shook his head, then whispered, “I have a headache.”

I smiled, trying to look reassuring. “See what comes after not listening to your dull old Father when he grumbles about looking into the fire? Would you like me to fetch some brew from the healers?”

“No,” he said, still in a whisper. “It will pass.”

“Faramir,” I started hesitantly, “would you care for a ride to the River with me tomorrow?”

“Boromir might be busy, he is going to have his additional sparring, is he not?”

“Yes, but I want to go with you alone.”

He stared at me in disbelief. “Me alone? But why?”

“Because I feel I have been neglecting my duties towards you for far too long, son. No, I want you to hear this. Linwen has just told me that you believed I thought you unworthy. That is not true, Faramir. You know I would not be lying to you about so serious a matter. I realize we have drifted apart a little, you and me, but we have to try and mend it as best we can, for are you not my son? There will be enemies enough for us to fight, so fighting each other is not the best idea of all.”

I gathered him into a tight embrace, feeling his tense body relax gradually in my arms.

“I still do not have your answer. Will you come for a ride with me or not?”

He pulled away a little, giving me a weak smile. “Yes, Father. Thank you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I laughed with relief.

*****************************

And then there was a truly blissful day on the riverbank, filled with swimming, eating, lying lazily in the sun, feeble attempts at fishing that neither of us excelled at, and talking, about everything, including Linwen and her coming marriage, Boromir’s coming departure for the army and our concerns about that, the recent book Faramir had read… and still, even throughout this happy time, there was a hidden sadness in his eyes, a sorrow I had not noticed earlier.

He dozed off in the warm sun, and I put him in my own saddle for the way home, and something whispered in my ear that I should treasure these moments. For the time was nearing when this child of mine too will start on his way into the perilous life of a grown man.

*****************************

Peregrin looked at me, his eyes full of tears.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said.

“Forgive you, Peregrin?”

“For thinking of you so badly, my lord.” A tear rolled slowly down his cheek. I held out my hand and wiped it away.

“You were not the only one to do so. All of them still think me a monster.”

He straightened. “Then allow me to be the first to deeply regret these thoughts.”

I smiled at his formal way of putting it, then turned to Faramir again.  
“I love you, child.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!

**Chapter 4**

Pippin had dozed off in the corner. He will be stiff all over when he awakes, I thought absently, my hand still stroking Faramir’s limp arm. My son’s breath now was very shallow and uneven; at times he would move his lips as if wanting to say something, once or twice I even caught a faint whisper. It sounded like ‘dark’.

I dipped a cloth in the basin of cold water and wiped his flushed face. An hour ago he would still react to the cold touch; now he lay completely immobile, oblivious to everything.

I felt my eyes fill with tears. I had thought that the loss of Boromir was the most terrible thing that could ever happen to me; the loss of my ever-active, lively, noisy boy who loved life so much. But somehow this was even more unbearable. With Boromir, we parted with a loving embrace; all that Faramir got from me in our last moments together was unforgivably cruel words.

“You cannot die like this, child,” I whispered, once again resisting the desire to just collapse by the bed and wail like a wild animal. “You must not…”

*****************************

“…And then she just squeaked and got on top of me, and she said she liked it better that way, and you know, it was a little odd, I’d never tried it like this with any woman,” Boromir recounted excitedly.

Then there was a whisper, followed by a vigorous and disbelieving “No!” from his brother.

“But that’s disgusting!” Faramir exclaimed. “No, it would surely be not for me, Boromir.”

I had to suppress a chuckle at his shock. My otherwise very learned and sophisticated fifteen-year-old seemed a complete ignoramus concerning a couple of earthly things. At his age, Boromir had been chasing both maids and daughters of nobility (I only presume that it was not hair-pulling he had in his mind).

“Not at all!” Boromir protested. “It’s… oh, you would be better at telling all about it, I’m certain. By the way… have you? You know, with a girl?”

There was no answer, at least no audible one, for in an instant there was a triumphant yell from the big brother, then the sound of a hand clapping what seemed to be Faramir’s back, and the words, “I knew there was some hope for you after all. Who was she?”  
Another pause followed.

“Wow… is that really true? If it is, then you are lucky, she is said to do wonders in bed! Can teach you a lot, too. They also have a new lass there, a blond one. But then, I’ve never been into blonds. Would be interesting to try, though.”

“I don’t know, brother,” Faramir said hesitantly. “Blonds are said to be so cold and boring… I like darker girls: long black hair, and it tickles you everywhere, and long dark eyelashes… mmm… No, I don’t like blonds.”

“Do not be so rash as to say such things, Faramir,” I said, stepping into the chamber, “or you might get a blond for a wife, as a punishment, you know.”

“Father!” they both gasped and went completely red. I thoroughly enjoyed the moment, because for some time my sons had been unbearably ‘proper’, their manners impeccable, especially with me.  
It was quite clear with Boromir: he tried to live up to his new persona, and as for Faramir, the boy had just been striving to copy his older brother as much as possible since the former returned for a short leave. Frankly speaking, I often wistfully looked back to the times when they would have chased other children along the hallways. It gave me enormous pleasure to have caught them off guard like this, sitting on the rug in front of the fire with a plate of cakes between them. I would expect at least some wine for these great lovers.

“That is not fair, Father!” Boromir lamented. “You’ve been eavesdropping! That is… undignified!”

He seemed shocked at the thought of the Steward of Gondor sneaking behind doors trying to overhear his sons’ private talks.

“Peace. I only heard the last words,” I lied, to put them on their ease. “But I meant what I said to you, Faramir. Just imagine being stuck with a person you find cold and boring.”

He looked obviously frightened of the thought. “But Father…” he groaned miserably, “do I have to marry at all? I don’t think I would want that.”

_Of course you would not, at fifteen!_ I smiled inwardly, but decided to tease them both a little more. “But the two of you will have to, eventually.”

Had I told them I was planning to cook them both for supper, they would not have looked so deathly pale. They exchanged horrified glances, Boromir looking absolutely shattered as he realized that for him the time was even nearer than for his brother. And I was merciless.

“It is especially important in your case, Boromir, as you are the Heir to the Stewardship.”

“I would so much like to pass the gift to Faramir,” he grumbled.

Faramir looked aghast at the thought. “You will do no such thing!”

Finally, I could not keep from the laughter that had been bubbling inside me, and it burst from me like a wave. My sons looked much relieved, though a little wary still. I sat down on the floor and reached for a cake.

“What, Faramir?” I enquired, noticing a strange look in my younger son’s eyes.

He quickly looked away. “Nothing.”

“I can see that something is troubling you,” I insisted. “Tell me.”

“No, Father, really… It is not of big importance, I assure you. Let us just eat.”

And so we did.

****************************

Faramir excused himself and went to bed, while Boromir and I stayed for a while longer.

“How’s our little one? Keeps puzzling people?” Boromir asked once his brother left.

“Awing them, I should say. He is doing remarkably well at everything concerning administration. Well, he seems to be a good strategist too. It was a good idea, back then, to make him attend the Council Meetings, though I am sometimes jealous, you know,” I gave a small laugh.

“Well, you should not be. He is so much like you.”

“Now that is an interesting thought! Is he?”

“But of course!” Boromir exclaimed almost indignantly. “I wish our places were exchanged. He would make a so much better Steward! I am too… unrefined for this,” he hung his head.

“Nonsense,” I said. “You will do just well when your time comes.  
Unless,” I smiled at him, “the King returns and relieves you of this onerous duty.”

“I wish!” Boromir laughed. “But… has it ever occurred to you, Father, that you place too much trust in me? I am… just a person, though a Steward’s son.”

I smiled again. “No, you are not ‘just a person’, Boromir. You are the most reliable person in the world, and so far you have never ever disappointed me, nor anyone.”

He sighed. “And that is what makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Everybody expects so much from me… and gets it, and what if some day I fail you all in something far more important?”

“What strange things you are saying, Boromir. You sound just like your brother.”

Boromir laughed. “That is a great compliment, Father! Though Faramir is far more confident than he used to be.”

“No wonder,” I said seriously. “We – I mean the Council - have recently decided to make use of some of his suggestions, and the boy has been walking on the clouds since then. But, Boromir, he was a little strange tonight, was he not?”

Boromir frowned. “Now that you mention it… He gave you such a strange look, just as you were reaching for the cake. You know, as if he regretted something. But then, he has not been sleeping well of late.”

“Not sleeping well? He has never mentioned that.”

“Of course not! You know how he is, Father. He would never complain about anything, for fear he could cause you some inconvenience. Even when he had that nasty cut to his forearm during his sword practice… oh, stupid me. I was not supposed to tell you.”

I got angry. “Would you be supposed to tell me if he fell off the top of the Tower of Ecthelion? For goodness’ sake, Boromir! Tell me what happened, now!”

He dropped his gaze, then started uneasily, “Well, he got it five days ago, and did not go to the healers, so it got inflamed. I had to drag him there almost by force the day before yesterday, and we both got a good share of scolding. I was told later that he could have lost his sword arm. That is why he was a little late for the Council that day.”

“Oh no!” I groaned. “And I told him off in front of others… what an ass I am, Boromir! You too, by the way. You should have told me.”

“So, now it is all my fault, right?” Boromir’s eyes flashed angrily at me. “I am to blame that you do not seem to notice your own son wearing a sling? Do you know how much you hurt him, Father? He is more than certain now that his health is of no concern to you at all! Oh yes, he has persuaded himself that this is how things have to be and does not blame you in the least, but don’t you think it was a little… well, cruel?”

I sat there, dumbstruck. Was it really true? How could I possibly have failed to see that his arm was in a sling? But there had been so much to do and to think about, I was just too preoccupied with things, and then there was my most recent discovery, the _palantír_ , which had taken quite a bit of my mind.

_No, no,_ I cried inside, _there could be no justification. Poor boy, how terribly hurt he must feel!_

“I must go to him, now,” I said urgently, climbing to my feet. “Why does it have to be ever so complicated with him? I never face anything like this with you!”

Boromir just shrugged.

*************************************

Coming closer to Faramir’s chamber, I saw that the door was slightly ajar. That surprised me, as he never left it open, claiming he could not sleep otherwise. In an instant, however, my surprise gave way to concern as I heard soft moans coming from inside. I hurried towards the sounds.

Faramir was tossing and twitching on his bed, his face flushed and sweaty, breath coming in and out in ragged gasps, hands batting away an unseen enemy. I could see his eyeballs moving frantically beneath the lids.

I rushed to his side, grasped him by the shoulders and gave him quite a violent shake. His eyelids fluttered open; a moment or two he was staring at me in horror, and then clutched at me so tightly that I gasped.

“Father… oh, Father, you are here… I’m so glad…” came the muffled words against my shoulder. He was all in a tremble.  
I held him tight, gently patting his back. “It was just a bad dream, Faramir. Now calm down, child, no one is going to hurt you…” I checked myself, realizing I was talking as if to a five-year-old.

He felt that too and said reproachfully, “I am no child, Father.”

_How I wish you still were,_ I thought suddenly and wondered at that, then remembered my business in his chamber.

I reached for his right hand and slowly rolled up the sleeve of the nightshirt he had on. The arm was bandaged from the wrist up to the elbow, to my great relief, without any traces of blood on it.

“Why did you not tell me?”

He flushed. “Did not want to trouble you with such a petty injury.”

“’A petty injury’! I was told you had nearly lost your arm!” I exclaimed, a little heatedly. “Really, Faramir, you sometimes are frustrating. Do you think me totally heartless?”

I stood up and paced the room, irritated and upset, and full of remorse, too. “And to think that I scolded you for being late that day… I guess I am a disaster as a father, after all. How could I not to have noticed your arm… that is truly unforgivable. You have each and every right to be cross with me.” I turned to look at him and was momentarily stunned to see that he was weeping, silently and helplessly, trying to wipe his tears on the cover. This alarmed me in earnest. Tears were something very unusual for Faramir, as was any other manifestation of his emotions. He possessed an amazing self-control, for one so young, and was much respected among both his young friends and older nobles. When distressed, he would not let anyone witness it; he would withdraw silently to some private corner, usually the garden, and sit there for a while, but I knew that even there he would never let loose a single tear.  
I sat on the bedside, quite at a loss what to do. I did not dare to try and embrace him, for I was certain he would pull away. Instead, I said in my softest tones, “What is it, Faramir?”

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to compose himself, and succeeded; then wiped angrily at his face. “Sorry, Father.”

“There is no need to apologize. Just tell me what is happening here.”

“I… I just feel so… worthless. Every time I do something well, the next thing that happens is me screwing up everything.” He sniffled and wiped fresh tears off his cheeks. “Boromir never does anything like that. He is a much… easier person to deal with.”

I sighed. “That is not because your brother is a perfection. He just does not keep things from his own father. It grieves me much, Faramir, to see how easily you talk to complete strangers and yet you cannot share your troubles with me!”

“You mean Mithrandir,” he whispered, then looked up at me alarmedly. “But… it does not mean he is more important to me than… than you. He simply has more time, and you are so busy most of the time.”

I guessed there was something wrong with my expression, as he added hurriedly, “No, Father, I do not blame you. I understand. I understand everything, and I would not like to be in your way. You need not worry about that.”

“Be in my way… Faramir, but you are MY son, MY child! Really, you must stop thinking I do not care for you.”

“But I do not think that, Father.” He looked at me with his big earnest eyes, and that made me want to scream. All that talk had led to nothing. I would truly prefer a familiar clash with my older son. Here things were seemingly all right, but deep at heart I felt despondent. And guilty, too. If it had not been for my earlier neglect of the boy, we would not be feeling so distant sitting just inches apart.

His hand touched mine hesitantly. “I think you are too tired, Father. Tonight, when you came and sat down there with us… I thought that it was for the first time in a long while that you managed to have a minute of pleasure and rest. If you would like…” he paused, “I could help you with some of the paperwork before I leave for Ithilien.”

I had to swallow a great lump in my throat before I could trust myself to speak. “I am very grateful to you, son, and very proud of you.”

For another long while we sat in silence. Then I asked, “What was that nightmare you were having when I entered?”

He tensed visibly. “Nothing. Just a bad dream.”

I decided against pressing him. “All right, tell me when you feel like it. Now go to sleep, you look exhausted. Do you want me to sit with you?”

“No,” he smiled faintly. “You look tired too, Father. I will be fine.”

I turned to look at him again from the doorway. He looked pale and worn, eyes full of concern. “Good night, Faramir.”

“Good night, Father.”

Once in the hallway, I sighed again. _This is turning into a bad habit,_ I thought, _struggling to reach some understanding with my younger son with the latter in bed or near it. Why does he have to be so difficult? Or is it me?_

I wondered belatedly at the worry in his eyes when I was leaving the chamber. What could that damned dream have been about? I could have sworn the concern was about me.

**************************************

“It is Black Breath, my lord. This is beyond my skills to heal,” the healer says, shaking his head sorrowfully. Pippin is still asleep.  
I touch my son’s hot and sweaty brow with my lips.

“Please, do not leave me without a word… without the chance for me to say how I love you…”

He is silent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!

**Chapter 5**

The time was dragging on. I had sent Pippin away for a while, the poor little soul looking so uncomfortable after being in the same position for quite long. He assured me he would be back shortly.

I wondered at my own attachment to the creature. Was it because of his indomitable spirit that I liked him so? Or was it his slight frame in the black and silver livery that brought back the memories of my sons when they were younger, all their cares still ahead of them, the same look of innocence and wonder in their eyes? But, most likely, what appealed to me most was the fact that, notwithstanding the oath I had heard form Pippin, he was certainly not the one to bow to anyone except for appearances’ sake. He was so friendly to me only a short while after our acquaintance, so full of heartfelt compassion, so enthusiastic and admiring while describing Boromir that I could not but develop a liking of him. He had seen enough horrors in his life, and yet not enough to harden him the way it did me… and I envied him.

For the first time in many years, a thought slowly crept into my head: could I have prevented this collapse of everything I held dear? Could I have withstood the fatal impact of the Enemy through that cursed stone? I still had a will of my own, however many horrible blackouts I suffered. Was it I who brought death upon my house?

For the _palantír_ had not wholly possessed me. In the worst moments, I wondered at the sort of man I had become; one part of me filled with black despair after the horrendous visions I saw in its misty depths, another screaming silently, struggling to break free, searching frantically for a helping hand; but whenever I was ready to reach out, it would drag me down like a foul-stinking quagmire, and I would roar with rage at those near me… my poor Faramir getting the blows most often.

How many times did I see his eyes darken with pain at my harsh and angry words? I dare not count. Nor can I count the times when I stopped at his door, laying my hand against the wood, summoning the courage to push it open, to rush to my child, to tell him everything and beg for his forgiveness and maybe for his help, too… and walking away, for I knew we were too far apart by that time, that I had lost his trust, long ago, when I neglected the cares of a little lonely boy with defiant grey eyes…

Now I wonder, was I right to think this? Maybe, had I tried to mend the rift between us instead of leaving it be, I would now have my son alive beside me.

***********************************************

When he came to inform me of Boromir’s fall, I had already known.  
The _palantír_ had showed me everything.

Horror-stricken, I watched as black-feathered arrows pierced my son’s broad chest, sending him to his knees. I _heard_ him gasp with pain, then scramble to his feet again and cleave another Orc’s head. More arrows came; he fought on, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, eyes wide and almost black with pain and the realization of a coming end. And I saw a wild desire to live, to fight, to love, just for a little while more…

I fell to the floor, my legs giving way under the crushing grief. He was no more… my son, my love and pride, and it was like a cold hand gripping my guts and twisting them into an icy knot. Then I realized someone was speaking to me, begging me to awake from the stupor that had taken me.

I turned my head slowly, and my eyes focused on Faramir, who was sitting on the floor behind me, his strong arms wrapped around me tightly. First all that was written on his face was fear and concern for me; then I noticed his pallor, his tangled hair, and, the most ominous sign, his red-rimmed and moist eyes. He had been weeping, and that had a truly terrible meaning.

I had held my hopes even after the sound of Boromir’s horn, even after the scene that cursed stone had showed me, but at the sight of my younger son’s tears all of them turned to dust.

“Boromir?” I managed to whisper.

He just lowered his head onto my shoulder, and I heard a muffled sob that was meant as a confirmation.

“How?”

“Orc arrows… I saw him in a vision, floating down the Anduin in an Elven boat.” He drew a deep breath to compose himself. “There must have been some companions who arrayed him for his… last journey.”

I leaned back onto him, feeling the strong arms holding me protectively, his brow once again on my shoulder. I felt strangely numb, aware only of the warm touch, thinking absently that it had been like ages since I was that close to Faramir.

“It is cold here,” he finally said in a very gentle voice. “Let me help you to your chamber, Father.”

I just gave a nod. He helped me to my feet.

“Can you walk? Will you manage the stairs?” There was none of his usual aloofness about him, only love and concern shining in his tearful eyes. I suddenly felt an enormous gratitude for his being with me.

“Yes, Faramir, I think I will.”

We were prepared to leave the chamber, when his eyes wandered around curiously. That was only natural, even in the circumstances, for he had never been inside Ecthelion’s Tower. All of a sudden, he gave a terrified gasp and made a step towards the round table in the centre, where the palantír was. I had forgotten to cover the thing with its cloth.

“Faramir, NO!” I rushed to the stone and threw the cloth onto it. “Don’t… don’t look.”

He was white as a sheet when he looked at me again. “Father… no, it cannot be… why, what is it doing here? Have you looked into it?”

I sighed. “That is why I do not want you to do it, son.”

He staggered backwards to the wall and pressed his palms to it, as if to steady himself.

“When I came in… you already knew about Boromir, did you not?

And you knew of many things… many plans of the Enemy…” His eyes widened in horror. “Father… Did He speak to you?”

“Faramir…”

“Did He, Father?” He sounded almost angry.

I did not answer, for that seemed unnecessary. He had already known. I felt so weary… so weak. The war… the _palantír_ …  
Boromir… My vision blurred with tears. I was dimly aware of Faramir at my side, his arm once again around my shoulders, guiding me towards the exit.

Next thing, my son was barking orders in a very uncharacteristic manner, and soon I discerned the familiar furniture in my bedchamber. I was sitting in an armchair. Faramir had built up the fire, and the room was suffused in a warm glow. Then he moved to the door and took a steaming mug from a servant, then dismissed him.

“Here, drink. Drink this.” Some other time, I would have smiled at his commanding tone; now, I just took the mug and sipped the hot brew. After I finished it, he took the mug from me and, having placed it on the table, sat on the floor in front of my chair and took both my hands in his.

“Now tell me all about it,” he said softly. I wondered at the change in my son and told him about it. He shook his head impatiently.

“Never mind the changes, Father. Tell me about the stone.”

So I did, for I was too weary to reason with him. I felt vaguely surprised; that was what my son was like when with his men, giving orders; I had never witnessed his other self, nothing like the quiet and withdrawn young man whose eyes were downcast for most of the time.

When I finished, he was very white in the face again.

“How could you do that, Father…” he whispered.

That angered me. “Do you not see how much good it has done us? We were able to know of the movements of the Enemy’s forces, your precious Rangers could prepare so many successful ambushes, and all thanks to the Seeing Stone!”

“But Father, do you not see it? The Enemy himself is too strong an adversary to play such games. We have had a spy within the Citadel for… for decades! And I am sure he has enjoyed the play.”

I snorted. “He has lost quite a bit of his forces to enjoy it so much.”

Faramir sounded exasperated when he next spoke. “But he can afford it, Father! The loss of a couple of thousands of Orc is nothing for him! But getting inside the Steward’s mind – now that is a success!”

He pressed my hands to his chest, looking beseechingly into my eyes. “Father, I refused to believe the rumours in the City that the Steward is not himself, that he acts strangely, that… that he would take the throne rather than give it to the rightful King, should the latter appear… I know you only too well to believe that these things come from your own mind. Can you not see He is striving to destroy you, and with you our City and our land?”

He stooped to kiss my hands, suddenly turning into a little frightened boy I used to know, and I felt tears slipping onto my skin. “Father… when I was a child, I used to have dreams of a fiery globe consuming you… I had it again and again… I would not tell anyone, for someone told me that you should keep bad dreams a secret, then they will never come true… but they are coming true! Father, I know we do not always get along well, but I love you, and now that I have lost Boromir… I cannot lose you too, I cannot, I do not want it…” He sagged against me heavily, his body shaking with weeping, his lips still pressed to my palm.

I wondered at my own reaction to his outburst. Surely it would be best to embrace him now, so broken and grieved over the death of his brother to get yet another blow; to hold him to my heart and simply weep with him, and then promise never to look into the cursed stone again… But then the wicked being that had made my thoughts its home whispered into my ears, _Did you not see him in the palantír? Did you not see how he handed the Crown of Earnur to that upstart from the North? How he helped to crown him King, so that he may take your place?_

_No, no,_ I wanted to scream. _I will not listen to this. I will not believe such thing about my own son. He is a man of honour. He will follow where his duty lies. I trust him!_

_And your trust is your undoing, it reasoned. He is ever so reserved with you, why this display of affection today? Perhaps he fears you have started to suspect him of something. Perhaps it is just a cunning strategy of his. You know how bright he is at this, getting people to do what he wants. You think it was you who sent Boromir to his death… but could it not be some clever manipulation on Faramir’s part?_

With horror I realised it was getting the upper hand. Another moment, and I will do something terrible to my own child…

“Faramir,” I whispered, “leave me.”

He lifted his head, his face streaked with tears. “Father?..”

“You heard. Leave me alone.” I felt rage surging inside me, and fought desperately to keep it at bay for another instant. “Go away.”

The anguish in his eyes nearly broke my heart. He wanted to say something, but I repeated, “Go away.”

He slowly got to his feet, wiping his face with his sleeve. When our eyes met again, he looked as calm and resolved as ever, a Rangers’ Captain again.

“As you command, my lord.” His expression was unreadable. “Do you wish me to call upon you before leaving at dawn?”

“No,” I answered, nearly succumbing to the blackness about to engulf me. _Please, Faramir, leave now… I cannot fight much longer… I may do something I am going to regret eternally…_

And he was gone.

The moment the sound of his footfalls died down, I was myself again. I stirred and blinked, then laughed bitterly at the cruel trick that had just been played on me. The Enemy had toyed with me… had held me just enough time, and then released me, gave me over to the torture of my own conscience. How truly inventive…

_No,_ I suddenly filled with resolve. _I am no puppet, even to the Dark Lord himself. He ahs taken one son from me; he will not part me from another one. I shall go and see Faramir at once._

*******************************************

I was mildly surprised at finding his door barred. I tapped at it, then, getting no response, called, “Faramir, I want to talk to you, son.

Please, let me in.”

He appeared in the doorway, deathly pale but outwardly calm, still fully dressed. “What is it that you want from me, my lord?” His tone was icy cold.

I nearly groaned aloud in frustration. “Faramir, I… I am sorry. Let me explain…”

He waved his hand, as if in dismissal. “Apologies accepted. Now may I be alone? I am weary, and I have just lost the only person that ever cared for me. Surely I can ask for some solitude? If I may remind you, my lord, I granted you the very thing I am asking of you now.” This said, he closed the door carefully (I would feel better if he had slammed it in my face!) and barred it again.

I stumbled blindly along the hallway. _Lost…_ the thought was throbbing in my head, _I have lost them both._

I should have talked to him earlier…

*******************************************

I awoke with a jerk, realising that the long vigil had had its toll on me. Did I dream of all that? It happened mere days earlier, but now these days felt ages. I rubbed my hand across my face, not surprised to find it damp. Then it dawned on me that there was some slight pressure on my other hand. I looked down at it and gasped, for Faramir’s dry hot fingers were wrapped tightly around mine.

I closed my eyes, my heart in my throat, fearing the disappointment, but it never came, for when I opened my eyes again, I stared straight into my son’s, and his lips moved. Though no sound came, I easily discerned the word he breathed.

“Father…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!

**Chapter 6**

For a long moment everything was swirling around the two of us, there was nothing… not even the deadly darkness enveloping the world; there were just his eyes, unusually bright and aware, struggling to express all the things that had never been said. I stared mutely at him, then fell forward and buried my face in the pillow just beside his head, unable to hold back burning tears. Then something whispered into my ear, _Look at him. You might never have this chance again. It is not the time to grieve yet, but you have been granted a wonderful gift, so use it, talk to him, tell him everything now he is awake, for later grief will be all that will be left for you._

I lifted my head with an effort. He was still looking at me, eyes nearly black with emotions I could not read. I placed both my hands upon his cheeks, stroking them lightly, then kissed his hot brow and moved my lips to his eyes, trying to convey everything with the touch, everything: all my regrets, and remorse, and my desperate plea for forgiveness, and, most of all, my fervent, pained love for him. I heard him sigh softly and contentedly, and when I finally withdrew, I saw his face glow with pleasure and peace.

“My dear boy,” I whispered, blinking back tears, for fear something might steal these precious moments. “How I love you… I would give my own life not to see you like this.”

“I know,” he breathed almost inaudibly. “I have…always known…always…and…F-father…” each word seemed to cost him enormous strain, “I…love you…too…” He closed his eyes, and for a dreadful moment I thought he was unconscious again, but then he opened them anew and tried to speak. I placed my fingers over his lips.

“Be silent, child. You will need your strength to recover.”

He gave me just a faint shadow of a smile. “I will not. Black…Breath…is deadly…you know this.” The smile grew wider. “And…I am no child, Father.”

I smiled, too, in spite of myself. “I remember you telling me this when you were…fifteen? But do not speak of death, Faramir. Are you not the one to hope until the last moment?”

His eyes filled with sorrow. “No…I know it is the end. I don’t want it to be…don’t want…to leave you all…all alone…” Suddenly there was fear in his gaze. “Father, I…I am so frightened…it’s dark there, not a flicker of light, nothing…” His voice gained in strength, he was desperately trying to say everything to me, lest he have no other chance, which, I realized with horror, was most probably true. “I had to fight so hard…so hard to come back, I wanted to see you again, to tell you…how sorry I am…and I couldn’t, I didn’t see any way back…and then, somehow, I knew you wanted me back…” he trailed off, exhausted.

I patted his immobile hand, then kissed him on the cheek again. “Sorry… What is there for you to be sorry about? It is I who is to blame for all… Oh, Faramir, if only…”

He cut me short by slightly squeezing my fingers again. “No, Father, I won’t hear anything of the kind.” His eyes hardened suddenly, making me feel like a scolded child. “I was such a terrible fool…stubborn and proud and…childish…”

His eyes closed again for a moment; it was increasingly difficult for him to speak, but when I tried to soothe him again, he even managed to shake his head.

“They sing…sing praises to me for my wisdom…and all…but I failed…I failed you, Father…no, no,” he forestalled my protests, “I do not mean the…the Ring…I don’t regret that…but…but…” he seemed to be fighting for every breath, his voice becoming so quiet I had to bend down to his lips to hear the words, “I should have…h-helped you…with the Seeing Stone…I…should have…noticed…earlier…”

Blinded with grief and horror, I slid my arm behind his back to hold him up and maybe ease his breathing, whispering into his ear, “Shh, child… be still, be still… I am here, I am with you…”

After a while he continued, “I was…so cross with you, so angry…”

I smiled sadly. “You had every right to be so, son.”

“No, no… Remember, Father… once, when I was…very young…soon after Mother died…you told me that when people are…are angry or sad they would say things…they do not really mean?”

I held him close, tears once again conquering me. How long ago it all seemed, that little boy looking at me with big, unhappy but still hopeful eyes with flickers of flames dancing in their depths! How easy it had been then to resolve all his tragedies, big and small alike, to wipe away his tears and with them all his worries…

“I did not think you still remembered that,” I whispered into his hair.

“I do,” he said. “You were not yourself…when you said those harsh words…and I…chose…not to think of that…instead I just got angry and…and would not listen to you…”

I embraced him still tighter, my heart being shattered into a thousand pieces. How could this have happened… it was all wrong, losing your children to that hateful force which had already veiled half the horizon, which had mockingly robbed me of myself just to throw this moment of light at me cruelly, so that I could realize all the clearer the nearness of doom, of the impenetrable darkness that would soon take us… and there was no escape, no hope, no life, nothing to cling to.

Faramir was too exhausted to speak now; he just lay back in my arms, breath barely discernible, eyes closed, but I knew he was not unconscious, for his fingers were still wrapped loosely around mine, stroking them gently, the only movement left to him.

“Tell me…a story…Father…” he whispered feebly after another long while.

“What?” I nearly jumped.

“Please,” he smiled. “I just want…to hear your voice… yet for a little while…I cannot see well, and it gets darker and darker…I will not stay much longer…”

I was about to protest, but the words died on my lips. I remembered what they told of the dying, of how their eyesight would fail when the end neared… Suddenly, my tears were gone. I received the gift of my son being awake with me as he breathed his last. I had failed him much too often throughout his life; I had neglected his cares as a small child; I had paid no heed to his worries as he entered adolescence; I had known nothing of his loves, his disappointments, his fears; I had led him to believe he meant nothing to me, that he was an unwanted and unfortunate addition to my family… but that had to stop. All he needed now was me; all I could offer him was a distraction from the clouds of darkness slowly surrounding him, and that would I do at whatever cost. _If he is to leave me today, I will do everything to ease the way for him…_

I shifted behind him, bringing him into a more comfortable position, gripping his hand tightly and reassuringly, my other hand resting on his sweaty brow.

“The day you were to arrive…” I began.

*********************************

I must have paced across the sitting room for at least a hundred times, nearly frantic with worry. The heavy door blocked all the sounds from Finduilas’s bedchamber, and that added to my frenzied state.

I had insisted on staying with her throughout the ordeal, being a little sorry for my absence during Boromir’s birth, and had been in fact let in… and then pushed out after the midwife commented on the likelihood of either me losing my conscience or her losing her patience. Just out of the door I nearly tripped over a wailing Boromir who appeared to have been attacked by an angry goose. The poor boy had tried to get to his mother, but the maid would not let him see her, so he went to the kitchens next, to try and get some comfort and probably a cake or two, and there turned over a bucket of water. A proper scolding from the cook followed, and now Boromir was sobbing aloud on the floor.

His face was all covered in ugly red spots from crying, and he had a runny nose. With a feeling of slight disgust I had always felt (to my great shame!) when dealing with such tasks, I helped him blow it into my own handkerchief, making a mental note to throw it out later.  
“Where’s M-mother?” he gulped.

“She is fine, only a little busy right now,” I said reassuringly, trying to keep my voice steady. “You know,” I continued with false cheer, “you are going to have a little brother or sister soon. Is that not wonderful?”

“No,” he snapped. “Don’t want babies. They are ugly.”

At heart, I agreed with him, but felt obliged to say, “Ours will be pretty.”

“They are no fun,” Boromir muttered.

“They are, after a few months. They are so funny when they start to speak, and then they try to walk and look like…like…fat little puppies,” I finished, relieved and pleased with a lucky comparison, as my son had been very fascinated with the creatures he found in the stables.

But, eventually, the conversation took the wrong turn. “I wasn’t like a puppy!” Boromir cried indignantly, then turned his back on me and, to my alarm, began to sniffle again.

I took him in my arms. “No, of course you were not, Boromir. I am sorry, I should not have said that. But it will be fun to have a brother or a sister, I promise.”

“But you said babies were like puppies!” I felt a true criminal.

“I made a mistake, all right? You were a very pretty baby, and our little one will be, too,” I assured him. Why did I always say wrong things, I wondered?

When at last we were admitted to the chamber and saw our wife and mother bursting with pride, though quite exhausted. She gave us a warm look, then suddenly burst out laughing. She laughed so hard tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her flushed cheeks.  
“What?” Boromir and I said at the same time.

“Oh, you two…you should see yourselves now…” she groaned. “So…concentrated…absolutely identical expressions…”

Her laughter was now reduced to short giggles. “You even…even keep you hands behind your backs in the same way. Boromir, sweetie, did Father make you walk across the room with him?”

“No,” our son frowned. “But he said babies looked like puppies.” He shot an accusing glance at me.

Finduilas had to bite the edge of her cover to stop another peal of laughter, then grew serious again.

“Here,” she beckoned, “would you like to see the little one?”

She carefully lifted the small bundle that had been lying beside her and presented the newest arrival to us. “It’s a boy,” she announced proudly.

I sighed inwardly and looked down at the tiny red wrinkled creature sleeping peacefully in her arms. This time I would not do what I did when Boromir was born, saying “My goodness, do they all look so terrible?” and earning at least a week of indignant hisses from the new mother. Instead, I took the baby from her, and saw my son open his eyes at me fuzzily.

“He has blue eyes,” I said awkwardly.

“All newborns do,” Finduilas smiled. “They might yet change. Here, let me take him. And Denethor?” she looked at me, her eyes laughing. “He is a big healthy boy. In a couple of weeks he will look much better.”

“He is all right,” I breathed.

“Liar.”

Boromir wriggled onto the bed. “Can I see him?”

His mother smiled at him. “Of course, love.” And she put the baby next to him.

I could plainly see that Boromir was disappointed. For a while he just looked at the little one, and then the baby made a huge yawn. Boromir laughed happily and touched his cheek with his finger.

“So soft,” he announced. “Like…like cream.”

*****************************************

“Don’t worry, Father,” he said later, in a very mature manner.

We were sitting at the fire, I with a mug of ale (I needed one!) and Boromir with a huge apple.

“Worry?”

“He may yet get pretty,” and he patted my hand reassuringly.

*****************************************

“Thank you,” Faramir whispered. I noticed a tear slowly making its way down his cheek and brushed it away with my finger. He smiled weakly. His eyelids fell heavily, and I was chilled to the bone in horror.

“No…Faramir, please, please, stay with me…” I hugged him frantically to my chest, begging him not to leave, but all I heard was, “Dark…so dark…” and he was silent.

I stood up, letting his limp body slide onto the bed. The story just told brought all to a fatal circle… the day my son arrived in this world and the day he had to leave it came together… were brought together by me. _You have done this… you have given him life and you yourself have taken it… you have betrayed him and are not worth him… you are worthless, Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and will sink into oblivion… the Dark Lord will come and devour your precious City, or else the one who claims to be Isildur’s Heir will be crowned and you will have to serve the man you have always despised… and your son is burning in a place devoid of sun or moon; he who loves the light so dearly must be confined in the land of eternal darkness…_

The wicked being whispered in my head again, but this time I offered no resistance, for it was speaking the truth. The cold rage took me. _You have taken everything from me. You have taken my sons, my land and my honour. But you will not rule my end. My life belongs to ME. As does my son’s, for he cannot decide for himself._

I stepped to the door and opened it. “Guards!” I called.

Orders given, I returned to my son and once again pressed my lips to his brow.

“I will not fail you again, Faramir. I will give you light.”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my idea of how it all might have happened in the Steward's household. Mind, I happen to like Denethor!

**Epilogue**

“Faramir?”

The young man started, then gave an apologetic smile. “I am sorry, my lord. Just got lost in my own thoughts. It happens to me quite often, you know. I cannot imagine why I was ever made Captain of the Rangers. What was it you wanted from me?”

Aragorn gave him a long and thoughtful look.

“Are you well?” he asked. “Does your wound bother you?”

Faramir shook his head. “Not in the least, my lord. It has healed amazingly well, even the scar is barely visible by now. I suppose,” he added hesitantly, “that I never thanked you properly for helping me.” Another smile followed.

Aragorn waved his hand impatiently. “Do not ever mention it. I guess the biggest thanks in it all is having you assist me. I cannot imagine struggling with the blasted protocol requirements on my own! To say nothing of the state of the affairs in the country. You came in very handy, my lord Steward!”

Faramir flinched, ever so slightly.

“What is it?” Aragorn looked a bit startled.

“Nothing much, my lord,” he answered firmly, but the King had already noticed the distant look in his suddenly darkened eyes.

“Shall I proceed about the storehouses?” Faramir continued.

“No,” Aragorn said. “Better tell me if I can help you with anything, Faramir.”

“Help me? I do not understand, my lord.”

“Oh, but you do. There is something on your mind, something that makes you very uncomfortable,” with this Aragorn stepped nearer and placed his hand on Faramir’s shoulder, “and it seems to me I know what it is. Pippin says…”

Faramir cut him short. “I think,” he said with a certain degree of coldness, shrugging off the King’s hand, “that I am perfectly capable of dealing with my own affairs, my lord. I would not dream of a monarch occupying himself with such petty things.”

He took a step back from Aragorn and said, “I deem you do not require my further presence, my lord. Can I beg your leave?”

Aragorn dismissed him with a sign, following the tall lean figure with his eyes. “All wrong,” he shook his head sorrowfully. “Handled it all wrong. But I hope she will help…”

 

*****************************

The woman laughed, a pure tinkling sound that went to Aragorn’s very heart. He suddenly felt a great wave of happiness enveloping him, that someone after all these horrors could still laugh like that…

He shook himself to the present. “What is it that you have found so amusing, lady?” he enquired.

She shot him a playful look. “Nothing about you, my lord. It just struck me as very odd that I should deal with frustrated men all my life. Is it I who is so adept at bringing people’s troubles to surface? Not a pleasant gift, if you come to think of that.”

Seeing Aragorn frown, she grew graver. “Tell me more,” she demanded.

“Well…” the King wrung his hands helplessly, “if only I knew where to begin… I quite like him. He is a sort of man I enjoy working with, for a start. He is so dreadfully efficient it makes me feel rather…

small,” he grinned at his companion. “But it is a relief to have an assistant like he is, and I never regretted my decision to keep him as the Steward. And I enjoy conversing with him so much! He has a very peculiar sense of humour, and he is so well-read, and nice, and not a hint of jealousy about this whole crowning story… the man is a treasure!”

He stopped to face the woman. “And it pains me to see him so depressed. He would not show it, to anyone. No one seems to notice! He is all smiles with the hobbits, and I am grateful for that, especially in the case of Frodo and Sam. The two were delighted to see their ‘Captain Faramir’ again. It seemed to me they chatted for a whole day. But…” he sighed, turning and proceeding in their walk, “it did them more good than it did him. And then Pippin came and told me he was concerned about Faramir.”

“Why?” the woman asked.

Aragorn eyed her warily. “Do you know how the Lord Denethor died?”

The woman took a deep breath. “Just heard rumours that he had gone mad and took his life, and that he had wanted to take Faramir with him, as well as burn the White City. This last one I find quite hard to believe, but then the rest of it does not sound too credible either. Is it true, my lord?”

Aragorn nodded. “It is. After I helped Faramir return, it was ordered he was not to know of the manner of his father’s death until well enough to bear such a burden, but what surprised me and Gandalf – that is, Mithrandir, - a lot was that he never asked anything! Gandalf finally told him, and said he had seemed unnaturally calm, as if it did not concern him at all.”

“Where does Pippin step in here?”

Aragorn’s eyes saddened. “Pippin tells me he comes to the House of Stewards every day… just to stand there for a while, and then wanders around the City… He never talks to anyone about these visits. I have tried to draw him out, and the last time I did it, it just angered him.”

“Oh yes, that is what he would do,” her eyes lit up with a smile. “All right, my lord,” she consented, “take me to him.”

********************************

They stopped at the House of Stewards.

“My lord Faramir?”

Faramir turned abruptly. Aragorn felt a stab of pain at the sight of his dark, haunted eyes. The man he saw before him was nothing like his cheerful and smiling Steward of just a couple of hours before.  
Faramir bowed, then gave a forced smile. “What does my lord require?”

“Nothing much,” Aragorn said. “I brought a lady who wishes to see you… and who, I am certain, you will be delighted to see, too.” He stepped aside, revealing a small neat figure.

Faramir gasped in astonishment, then rushed to the woman, snatched her into his arms and whirled round wildly, laughing happily and loudly. “Linwen! What a meeting! Oh, Linwen, could I ever imagine seeing you again!”

Aragorn smiled and left quietly.

“Faramir, do put me down, please,” Linwen breathed. “This is pretty compromising, don’t you think?”

“But… how did you get here? This is the nicest thing that happened to me in… never mind.”

“Nicer even than meeting the Lady Éowyn?” she teased. “I am flattered.”

“No one can compare to you, Linwen,” Faramir proclaimed. “You hold a special place in my heart, you know it. But what are you doing here?”

“Mostly, looking after my younger son who is in the healers’ care.” Her eyes became sad.

“Oh…” Faramir looked a little abashed. “And…” he stopped, unsure if he should proceed.

Linwen smiled sadly. “My husband was killed in an ambush years ago. I also have another son and a daughter. They are both unhurt, so I suppose I am fortunate, after all… though my younger boy will most probably lose his leg.”

She met Faramir’s eyes and suddenly shook her head. “No, dearest Faramir, do not look so upset. We have all paid for what we have now, have we not? And we knew what the victory would cost us. I still grieve for my husband, and my son’s pain, I will feel tenfold… but if by this someone else’s pain was lessened, I do not regret anything.”

They stood side by side for a while. Then, Linwen said, “But I have been summoned here by the King.”

“The King? But…I do not understand. Why would he send you to me? Did you request it?”

“No. He found me and told me to go and see you. He thought you might need someone you could talk to, _really_ talk.”

Faramir stared at her, perplexed. “What does it matter to him? Why would he care?”

“Because he does care for you, you silly boy. And it grieves him to see you so miserable. And you, as is your wont, would not let anyone near you, or believe people like you and want to help.”

Faramir was silent. Linwen passed a hand over his hair.

“Do you really come here every day?” she asked softly.

He nodded, then said quietly, “I feel I have to. I owe him this.”

“Owe him this?”

“For those last moments we were together. You know how he died, do you not?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He gave a short and bitter laugh. “ _I did not want them to tell me,_ Linwen. I had him before the darkness took me… and it was enough. He told me about the day I was born… and he told me he loved me… I did not want any tale of his madness. I wanted to pretend he was killed in a battle, or an accident, anything… anything but the truth. To think of the torment he had to endure… of that terrible death…” he trailed off.

Linwen wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let us leave this place,” she whispered.

He let her lead him away, a strange apathy taking him. He came to when Linwen pulled him down at the foot of an old tree, making him sit down with his back against the trunk. Faramir slid down and in a moment was lying on the grass, letting his head rest in her lap.

“Are you not too big a boy for that?” Linwen jested.

He smiled, eyes still closed. “I would never do that as a boy, you know it.”

Linwen stroked his hair. “Tell me,” she commanded softly.

“What?”

“You know.”

Word after word, the whole story poured from him; the long and lonely years of fear and sadness, of misunderstandings, of griefs big and small… Last of all, he mentioned the _palantír,_ his father’s slow descent into darkness, and his own failure to stay that.

“Linwen, I know I could have helped him. I know. But I preferred to shut myself out and wallow in my grief, and he was too far gone or too proud to ask for help. I know nothing can be changed now, but this pain will stay with me forever. And now when anyone calls me ‘my Lord Steward’… it just chills me to the bone. I wonder, Linwen,” he looked up at her with his anguished eyes, “how much of my father there is in me… Do I risk the same fate? Shall I ever distance myself from my loved ones so much there will be no way back?”

Linwen dropped a soft kiss on his brow. “If you wish that only, Faramir. I must say I do fear for you. Can you not see that this is precisely what you are doing now?”

She hugged him tightly, rocking back and forth. “My dear child… I am proud of you, truly. I admire you, and so does everyone in this City. Even in neighbouring kingdoms, I hear,” she added mischievously, drawing a shadow of a smile from him. Then, her voice hardened suddenly. “It is a shame and just base ingratitude to turn them all away, and I thought I had taught you your manners! About your father…” she pressed her cheek to the top of his head, “he finally got a moment to make his amends, and you should be grateful for that. Yes, you should thank all the good in the world for these final minutes with him, because they prove all of us that despair is a sin, a folly, that there is always time to put things right, if only to say farewell.”

All of a sudden, she pushed him away, then grabbed his shoulders none too gently. “I will not allow you to do the same your father did, Faramir. And if you ever again behave in such a silly manner, I… I will do something I never did when you were a child.”

“And what will that be, Mistress Linwen?” He was smiling at her now.

“I will spank you.”

**********************************

Aragorn heard a hesitant tap at the door. “Enter,” he said, getting to his feet.

He was feeling a bit drowsy, but was back to alertness at the sight of Faramir in the doorway.

“Faramir… I did not expect you so late. What brings you here?”

“Just one thing that I have to do, Aragorn.” The King noted the informality of the address. Meanwhile, Faramir took a few steps closer, paused for an instant, and then, unexpectedly, embraced Aragorn tightly, touching the King’s shoulder with his forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Aragorn hugged him back, feeling something warm and damp soak into the thin fabric of the tunic. “There is nothing to thank me for, Faramir,” he said.

“Forgive me for being such a fool,” Faramir continued. “If not for Linwen…”

Aragorn laughed quietly. “You do seem in need of a good wife! I will have to see to marrying you off as soon as possible!”

“Please, do,” Faramir finally lifted his tear-stained face from the King’s shoulder and grinned broadly.

**********************************

He once again stood in the House of Stewards, in the ray of light that had made his way almost to the slab where Denethor’s urn had been placed.

A smile touched his lips as he passed his hand over it.

“I am all right, Father. May you find peace, too. I love you.”


End file.
